


Terms of Engagement

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 01:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I’m just saying we should talk about this,” Roman says. “You and me.”“Meet in the back alley at midnight, bring your best brass knuckles?” Harry asks.





	Terms of Engagement

Harry wakes up overheated, with Evan’s leg slung over his, arm tucked around his chest. Minus the too-hot thing, it’s a pretty damn good way to wake up.

Evan made noises about not wanting to overstay his welcome after dinner, but when Harry shot that down by asking if he was really the kind of guy who didn’t tell you if you weren’t welcome, he was content to stay for a movie, tucked up on the couch between Harry and Beau, who had clearly found his new favorite person. It was kind of like the nights on the road last week — movie, Evan pressed warm against him, Harry paying more attention to him than the movie, then the two of them going to bed early like good boys, except this time there wasn’t the orgasms in separate rooms thing, because Harry got off in Evan’s giant, talented hand.

“You’re heavy,” Harry complains, and Evan rolls off him, blinking sleepily. The sleepy blinking lasts halfway through breakfast, when it turns to this kind of awkward shy thing, like he’s now awake enough to feel embarrassed about, Harry doesn’t know, putting out on the first date or something, and Harry is having none of it.

“What’re you up to today?” Harry asks, which is successful at distracting him from whatever he’s worrying about. 

“Was going to work out this morning at the gym by my apartment,” Evan says. “Since they canceled practice.”

“Want some company?” Harry asks. “I can meet you there if you need to pick up some stuff from home.” He’d offer to lend Evan some clothes, but that clearly isn’t an option. 

“I have a work out bag in my car,” Evan says, then, “What?”

“Of course you do,” Harry says. “Want a workout buddy?”

“That’d be great,” Evan says.

It’s a pretty chill morning. Harry spots for Evan while he lifts, which is…distracting, but he is fully capable of making sure not to accidentally murder Evan by dropping the barbell on him due to getting caught up in his whole everything. Cardio after, Harry half watching the news cycling and half listening to Evan tell him about this place with ‘amazing kale smoothies’, which sounds like an oxymoron to Harry. Nothing against kale, he just doesn’t want to drink it. 

Harry finds out after they’ve finished and showered that Evan’s work out bag doesn’t just contain a change of clothes, but also a ton of travel sized toiletries along with a brush and hair gel, which he pulls out once they’ve changed back into street clothes. Harry would put a lot of money down on him being a Boy Scout when he was a kid.

“Your hair looks good like that,” Harry says. Harry doesn’t tame his hair after showering, it goes Medusa or whatever, but with Evan it’s all loose curls Harry wants to twist his fingers in. 

“Yeah?” Evan asks.

“Definitely doesn’t need the gel,” Harry says, and Evan touches his fingers to his damp hair then tucks the gel away. 

“You want, you can come back, I’ll make you lunch,” Harry says. “Nothing fancy, just sandwiches, but I’ve definitely got some kale I can throw in there for you.”

“I can’t,” Evan says, which is already enough to have Harry all paranoid thinking ‘Roman, of course’, even before Evan says, “I’m — I told Roman we’d talk.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Talk.” Evan looks uncomfortable, so he bites his tongue, says, “Cool, well. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah,” Evan says. The tight feeling in Harry’s stomach disappears momentarily when Evan brushes his knuckles against Harry’s on the way to their cars, lingering too long for it to be an accident, but it’s back in full force as he drives home, and for the rest of the day, not able to keep himself distracted enough to avoid the periodic ‘I wonder what he’s doing right now’.

The answer’s usually explicit, and not the kind that he’s been jerking off to. Or, kind of, with the addition of details he now knows firsthand, like the way Evan sounds when he’s coming, or the raised white scar on his hip, or the slight roughness of his voice after you accidentally shove your dick down his throat — Harry apologized for, like, ever about that one and had a stern talk with himself about blowjob etiquette — but there’s also the addition of Roman. Evan wrung out and coming under Roman’s hands, Roman’s tongue on that scar, Roman shoving his dick down Evan’s throat and holding him down, making him take it, and instead of being hot, it’s just kind of upsetting.

Okay it’s a little hot, but probably just because Harry finds everything to do with Evan hot, lately, and he’d really prefer to just think about last night without imagining Roman in his place, wondering if he’s better, more experienced. Older, yeah, and maybe he’s sucked a dick before like, literally last night, maybe Evan’s breathless, after, thinking ‘wow, Harry isn’t shit in comparison to this’.

“Augh,” Harry yells, and when Beau pads over to check on him he goes upstairs to yell in his pillow instead so he doesn’t worry him. 

*

The only thing Harry hears from Evan before their next game is a text he presumably mass sent, a super flattering article about the North Stars in general that also happens to refer to Harry as ‘an ace up the North Stars’ sleeve’. Harry’s mom already sent him it, but he’s not going to complain about seeing it again, though he does text back _you shouldn’t read shit about us_ in reply, because honestly, the good stuff sticks for a day but the bad stuff sticks forever. Harry still wants to punch the guy who called him ‘undersized and under-performing’ last season.

The important thing is that Harry hasn’t gotten any ‘I’m dumping you. Sorry.’ texts, so presumably Roman hasn’t pulled a ‘him or me, Sweetheart’ ultimatum. Or maybe he has, and Evan just wants to wait until he sees Harry in person to dump his freckled ass. Though Harry doesn’t actually have any freckles on his ass, he doesn’t think. It’d have to see the sun first, probably. Maybe he’ll ask Evan. That is, if Evan isn’t dumping his potentially freckled ass.

Walking into the X before the game is the ultimate relief and also hell, because the problem with it probably being better if Harry doesn’t know what’s going on with Evan and Roman, beyond the whole, like, having a very good (and pretty explicit) imagination, is the fact that’s flat out impossible _not_ to know. Like, he can not ask, and he can tell Evan not to tell him anything, but the fact is, the three of them share a locker room and a lot of other close spaces for large amounts of time, and Harry can’t just shut his eyes and stick his fingers in his ears for half his life.

He’s tempted, though, to do exactly that when he walks in to see Roman and Evan standing close, heads tilted together as they look at something on Roman’s phone.

_Guess the talk went well_ , Harry thinks, feeling kind of sick, and worse when Roman looks up and meets his eye.

Harry swallows, nods a little, because looking away first would be admitting — something. He doesn’t know. Maybe Roman doesn’t even know about him. Maybe —

A muscle in Roman’s jaw ticks, visible even from halfway across the room.

Yeah, he knows.

Evan looks up then, like he’s been alerted to the fact that the atmosphere around him went from normal to intense staring contest, and immediately smiles when he sees Harry, giving a little wave.

Harry can’t help smiling back, because Evan’s smiles are contagious or something. There’s this stalemate for a second, Evan glancing at Roman and then looking back at Harry, and it’s like — Harry’s thinking of those scenes in movies where the old owners and new owners of a dog call him by different names and wait for him to come to them. 

Evan pushes away from the wall, and Harry’s pretty sure, for a second, that it’s him, or, wait — it could just be coming over to say they have to talk or that he — but no, he smiled when he saw Harry, and he wouldn’t have if he was planning on dumping him —

Evan’s fingers brush his wrist, a quick, absent caress, before he’s passing him and exclaiming something to Victor about some TV show. 

Well. At least he didn’t stick with Roman, Harry guesses, but he feels a little rejected anyway. He goes to sit in his stall, ignoring another text from Annie, because he really doesn’t know how to explain things to her right now and he really _really_ doesn’t want to hear what her opinion on them would be, and is shrugging his coat off when Roman’s suddenly looming.

“Can I help you, Novak?” Harry snaps, when Roman doesn’t immediately say anything and/or punch him.

“That was diplomatic,” Roman says.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Going to the Spider,” Roman says. “Smart of him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says.

“No?” Roman asks.

“I don’t really want to talk about this either,” Harry says. 

“Tough shit,” Roman says. “I’m sure Connie hasn’t thought of all the ways this could blow up in everyone’s faces, but you’re a pessimist, so I figured you have.”

“Who said I’m a pessimist?” Harry says, even though he’s probably thought of a dozen scenarios, in between thinking about Roman’s dick in Evan’s mouth. He wonders how big he is, whether he’s as big there as he is everywhere, as thick, or if he’s secretly hilariously tiny. Harry makes a point not to look whenever guys are changing, so he has no idea.

He bets it’s big. His eyes flicker down without his permission, then he forces himself to meet Roman’s eyes, hopes he didn’t see that, misinterpret it or something.

“You’re telling me you’re an optimist?” Roman asks. “Right, that’s why I nicknamed you Sunny Disposition.”

“Bet you’re really wishing you didn’t nickname me Spoilsport right now, huh?” Harry asks.

That muscle in Roman’s jaw ticks again. It’s very noticeable, as close as he’s standing, like he’s trying to impress upon Harry how much bigger he is or something.

“I’m just saying we should talk about this,” Roman says. “You and me.”

“Meet in the back alley at midnight, bring your best brass knuckles?” Harry asks.

“It’s illegal to possess those in Minnesota,” Roman says. “So I hope you don’t have any.”

“How the _fuck_ do you know that?” Harry says.

Roman smirks, and Harry is _not_ frightened. Just because he’s like. Huge. And has had more fights than Harry has career goals — and Harry’s including college in that career. And blew someone’s knee out two seasons ago.

“Relax,” Roman says, slapping Harry’s way back harder than necessary. “Guy in my dorms had some, first year of college. Didn’t end well for him.” Which sounds like Roman fucking _killed_ him, but probably means legal shit. At least Harry hopes so.

“So bare knuckle, then?” Harry asks.

Roman laughs. “You want to die, kid?”

“You calling me a kid right now?” Harry asks. “And you can still bring yourself to fuck—” he stops himself. They’re in the fucking locker room, and anyone could hear them.

“Don’t,” Roman snaps.

“I’m not,” Harry says. “Okay? Fuck.”

“So can we talk about this like adults, or what?” Roman asks.

There are so many things Harry can say to that, but he doesn’t actually want to get decked. “When?” he grits out.

“After the game?” Roman asks.

“This sounds a lot like midnight in an alley,” Harry says, then, when Roman just stares, “Fine.”

“Fine,” Roman says, and goes back to his own stall.

Evan, still deep in conversation with Victor, shoots a nervous looking smile his way, but this time Harry can’t muster a smile in return.


End file.
